


Seeking a Friend for the End of the World

by PrairieDawn



Series: Welcome to 1951 [9]
Category: MASH (TV), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: (not Potter), Everybody Gets Laid, F/M, First Time, M/M, Meditation, Soft Married Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: Four couples who got together on the night before Armageddon, and one that did the best it could.Note:  This work occurs between the episodes "Storm and Strife" and "Bug Out:  Part 2--Seoul"  It is not necessary to read this explicit interlude in order to follow the rest of the story.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, James T. Kirk/Spock, Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Mildred Potter/Sherman Potter, Radar O'Reilly/Kellye Nakamura
Series: Welcome to 1951 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1033128
Comments: 60
Kudos: 99





	1. Radar and Kellye

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this chapter for several months, waiting for it not to be full of spoilers.

After weeks of frantically learning how to rewire radios and circuit boards and his own messy brain, Radar found himself, on the last day he could see his way clearly, with far too little to do. Tomorrow was a dark and murky fog that crawled unpleasantly behind his eyes. Spock was busy in the OR with Hawkeye and McCoy, helping out with their last remaining patient. The rest had gone on the last evac bus an hour ago.

He found himself at the O club, trying to decide between a comfortable Grape Nehi or a most likely unwise beer. A familiar, soft form slid into the seat next to him. “Rough day?”

He shrugged. “Nothing more to do but wait, now.”

“We still breaking camp tomorrow?” Kellye knew the answer but it was something to say.

Radar answered her anyway, also just for something to say. “Colonel Potter says first thing in the morning. The plan is to hightail it to Seoul and hope for the best.”

“It sounds stupid to say it, but I’ll miss this place,” Kellye said. “I mean, I miss home so much I can smell black earth and salt when I close my eyes, but at least here I know—knew what to expect from the days. No matter what happens now, home won’t be the home we left. Not really.”

I hope any of us live long enough to see it, Radar thought gloomily. He ought to tell her it would all turn out okay. But she’d believe him, and he didn’t want to mislead her like that. Kellye was the closest thing Radar had to a real friend here. Everyone else thought of him as someone to protect, a kid brother or a protegee or a surrogate grandson. Kellye was--well, up until Henry died, a secret partner in crime and after, the first person to make him laugh. When her smile made it all the way to her eyes he could stare at it forever—or at least until she turned away, suddenly bashful, and asked him if she had something in her teeth. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes today.

He wondered if there was anything he could do to see that smile, even if only one more time.

Kellye threaded her arm through his and gave him a playful squeeze. “I’d ask you to dance, but there’s no one playing.”

Mulcahy looked up from his glass at the two of them, then moved from his spot at a table in the corner to the piano. “I think I could manage a little ragtime,” he allowed.

Radar spun on his chair. “That would be awful nice of you, Father.”

“Yeah, give us something to dance to,” Rizzo added from his seat in the corner of the room. “I’m sure I can find a willing barmaid.”

“Say my name and I’ll pretend you didn’t just call a nurse a barmaid,” Nurse Able said from her perch at the end of the bar.

Rizzo smiled broadly, “Care to dance, Cathy?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied. Radar watched the two of them take to the floor together, Able graceful, Rizzo less so, but amiably leading anyway. Able squeaked and chuckled when he put a foot down on hers. Radar bit his lip, trying to get up the courage to ask Kellye to dance for real. 

“You want to join them?” Kellye said. 

Radar turned toward her and swallowed. “You still want to dance with me? After everything?”

“Why not?” She laughed and pulled him off his chair. “You better lead, or I will.”

He caught the rhythm of the music and swung her around. She followed, her laughter almost-not-forced at first and growing more genuine as they circled the room, avoiding Rizzo and his partner. They danced without talking for a while, without thinking, mostly. The next song was faster. Kellye tried a more complicated dance step and he let her lead, allowing the problem of doing it correctly without stepping on her feet turn off his circling thoughts while he basked in the impossible knowledge that she thought he was cute, and not in the sort of way puppies and babies were. By the time he got around to feeling guilty, again, about knowing that she liked him before she actually told him so, Mulcahy finished the song he was on with a flourish and bowed over the keys. “I need a break, if you don’t mind,” he told them.

“Thanks for playing, Father,” Rizzo said. He whispered something in Nurse Able’s ear and the two of them headed for the door, heads together and steps quick. Radar’s cheeks warmed thinking what they might be getting up to. 

Kellye watched them leave, a thoughtful look on her face. “You wanna find somewhere else to be?”

Radar blinked at her. She jogged him playfully with her elbow. He stammered, “What, me? With—with you?”

“Not talking to anybody else,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist. “Let’s take a walk.”

He slid back off the seat and let her lead him into the evening air. They were immediately swarmed by gnats and mosquitoes, drawn by the lights inside the O club. She squinted and waved her hand across her face, shaking her head so her pigtails whipped his nose. He ducked and sneezed, then pulled her forward, almost running, until they were in a clearer space. She laughed. “We must be delicious.”

The way she said it caught Radar funny and he blushed again. At least in the dark she couldn’t see it. They skirted the edge of the yard, Radar touching his cap when they passed the sentry, who waved them along. “It’s a warm night,” she said.

He bit his lip. “I know a spot where we could watch the stars. Maybe make up names for the constellations.”

“You can name your favorites for your pets. I’ll name them for my favorite flowers.” The end of the word was swallowed up, suddenly, in a wash of grief so strong it blew straight through that shell of blue sky he kept up around himself to keep other people out. Tears pricked at his eyes. He blinked them clear. “You’re still worrying about tomorrow.” 

“Aren’t you?” She looked at him, teeth catching her bottom lip, and rubbed tears out of her own eyes with the palm of her hand. “Hawaii’s the most beautiful place on Earth, you know. Flowers the size of your head, everywhere you look. And where it isn’t flowers it’s bright green leaves, white sand, ocean blue as the sky.” She trailed down his sleeve with her hand and laced her fingers with his and there was, all at once, a soft golden wash over everything. _Nice pair of lips, and so squeezable_ , he heard and he pulled his hand away and took a step back.

“Sorry!” he said.

“You okay, Radar?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just can’t—not hear you--when you hold my hand like that.”

“I never minded before and I don’t mind now, Radar,” she chastised, holding her hand out again for him to take, if he wanted. He very much wanted.

“I’ve been told it’s rude.”

“I’m in a rude mood,” she teased, and again, there was a lilt in her voice that made heat go places that he both did and did not want heat to go. He swallowed and took her hand again, soft fingers, a couple of the tips callused from sewing without a thimble. The gold of her was nice, pretty and warm and sparkling like the sun shining on water. “That’s nice,” she said, and smiled, the real one that crinkled her eyes and poured into his brain like the smell of warm cookies. He wondered, not at all idly, what it might be like to kiss that smile. 

They’d made it out to the edge of the minefield that separated the helipad from the fallow field beyond the camp. “Careful,” he warned.

“Maybe I don’t want to be careful.” She stepped close enough that he could feel her breath on the bridge of his nose, tipped his chin up a tiny bit, and pressed her lips to his. They saw stars.

*

It was a ginger ale kiss, bright and sparkly, that fizzed between the two of them. Kellye tapped her tongue against Radar’s bottom lip, but he jolted back, put his hand to his mouth and apologized at the ground. She took hold of his elbow to keep him from backing right into the minefield. “Hey, you okay? Am I moving too fast?”

Radar looked her in the eye and away again. “No, no, I’m just not used to pretty girls noticing me.”

“I was doing a lot more than noticing you there, Radar.”

He looked her in the eye, then, and Kellye floated up, she swore, a couple inches off the ground. His eyes were bright and she could swear he was blushing even in the faint light of the full moon. “You know I’ve never—”

“I was pretty sure.” She was half afraid he’d run back to the radio room. “Anything you want, or don’t, it’s okay. I just don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

He reached for her hand. She held it tight, not sure what he was planning, or if he just wanted to hold on to somebody for a minute. _The most beautiful girl in the camp likes me,_ she thought, which didn’t make any sense at all. Oh. Kellye? The most beautiful girl in the camp?

Radar ducked his head and fiddled with his cap. “Sorry.”

“Radar O’Reilly, if you apologize one more time I’ll kiss you until you can’t.”

He let go of her hand, looked her right in the eye, smirked, and said, “Sorry,” again. Then stepped two steps into the minefield.

“Are you crazy?” she said, louder than she’d intended. She repeated herself in a rasping whisper. “Are you totally crazy?” 

“You want to find out?” He reached out across the distance between them.

“You are absolutely crazy.” But she took his hand, which must mean she was crazy too. She started to step forward, but he held up his free hand.

“Not yet. Step exactly where I step.”

She laughed. “You know where the mines are!”

“The map is in the office. I memorized it. Step right there.” He made a motion with his toe. She put her foot down where he said, then stood on one foot like a wobbly flamingo until he pointed out a spot she could set down the other. 

“I thought they moved every time it rained.”

“They do,” he said. “Step right…here.”

She had to ask herself why she was doing this, tiptoeing through a minefield on the advice of a sweet, but utterly batty boy with bright blue eyes and a smile that made her just want to eat him for breakfast. It probably had to do with Hawaiian flowers she’d probably never see again and wanting to do something wild, just once, just because she wanted to and not because she had to. And besides, how many other guys thought she was the prettiest girl in a camp with Cathy and Margaret and Ginger in it. She held tight to Radar’s hand, her tongue tasting the night air, squished as it was between her lips and teeth as she followed his directions precisely. Left foot, then right, then left again.

His palms were sweating, making her grip slip and he looked up again with that look on his face and she shook her head firmly at him. Four steps and five and six and trying to match exactly where he put his feet was making her too aware of her body, the movement of her clothes against her skin, the buzzing of the gnats in her ears, the thought of what it might be like to kiss Radar properly and—

“Would you stop for a minute, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“By all means. This was your idea after all.” She tried to think about her feet and nothing else for nine and ten and eleven steps and they were across. Radar pulled a trunk out from behind a patch of scrubby grass, opened it, and spread a blanket on the ground. “You come here often?” she asked him.

“The little rise there hides this spot from the camp, and no one would think to look across the minefield.”

“Did you bring me to your secret hideout?”

He didn’t dignify such an obvious question with an answer, but sat down crosslegged on the blanket, took off his jacket, and patted the ground beside him. Kellye tilted her head back and tried to make constellations in the unfamiliar stars. Radar lay down, resting his head on one arm and she followed his lead. It was a warm night for a change, well into spring and humid enough to make the air feel thick in her nose. Their arms touched, damp with dew, from where their short sleeves ended down to the backs of their hands. Radar bumped her hand with his, a question. She clasped it again, palm to sweaty palm.

He pointed straight up, with his free hand. “I call that one the Headset. And that’s Shadow, for my raccoon. See the tail and the nose?”

She didn’t. There was a row of four stars in almost a straight line running west to east. “What about those four?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

They were so obviously one constellation, those four stars, but they were dull by themselves. She was reminded a bit of Cygnus, but she didn’t want to give these foreign stars the names of constellations from before. There were three stars running north to south in a sort of flattened triangle near one end, not quite as bright, but bright enough to be visible even in competition with the full moon. The whole thing looked like an arrow, or an umbrella. _I like The Umbrella_ , Radar said in that funny voice that wasn’t quite made out of sound.

She propped herself on her elbow to get a better look at him. “You did that on purpose,” she accused.

He shrugged in response. How about if I kiss you quiet like I said I would, she thought, half expecting him to answer in kind. She plucked off his glasses, folded them, and tucked them into the pocket of his discarded jacket. He reached up to wrap an arm around her back, those short arms deceptively strong. A farm boy like him probably earned those muscles doing honest work and not just doing push ups in Basic. 

He leaned in toward her, eyes closed. She closed the gap. He startled and pulled away again, but only for a second, and he didn’t move away when she cautiously explored his lips with the tip of her tongue. Warmth built, low inside her and she curled one leg around his, her thigh pressing into him enough that she could feel she wasn’t the only one interested and he suddenly tipped his head down so she was kissing forehead. “Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, um. That’s just…real nice.”

“So I noticed.” She sat up to regard him in the moonlight. “You might want to put your glasses back on for a minute.” She worked her way out of her top while he fumbled for his glasses. His eyes grew wide when he looked back up.

“Can I?” He rested a hand, hesitant, on the bare skin of her shoulder by the bra strap.

She nodded, trying to make her eyes smolder seductively, but unable to keep a grin from cracking her face. “Hold on, these things are tricky.” She got her hands behind her to unhook her bra, saw him ogling the way her chest stuck out with her arms behind her back and decided to make it last a little. She sat up straighter to better catch the faint light, then took her time undoing the hooks, catching her bottom lip with her teeth in mock concentration. Radar licked his lips.

Getting her bra off was a relief even if she weren’t anticipating Radar’s response to her being topless. His mouth opened, just a little, and he squeaked, actually squeaked, and squirmed a little on the blanket as if his pants had gotten unbearably uncomfortable. She lay back down beside him, arranging herself to best advantage.

He blinked at her for so long she thought he might be permanently stuck, then finally squeaked again, “Wow.” He raised his hand again, tentative, so cautious, and said, “Can I?”

She nodded and leaned a little into him. He rested four fingers on the curve of her shoulder and sucked in a breath, hard, blinking.

“You okay there, Radar?”

The silence stretched again, but he unfroze to trail his fingers over the curve of her shoulder and whisper, “Yeah, just—yeah, I’m okay.” He took off his glasses with his free hand. “I think. I think I’m close enough not to need these.” He reached behind himself to tuck them away. She leaned in for another kiss, the movement jogging his hand so that it slipped down to rest at the side of one breast, the thumb perilously close to one nipple and oh if he would only just move that thumb a little, just a little. When their lips touched, he twitched and stilled again, for an agonizing count of five, then carefully, almost reverently stroked upward with that thumb and she let herself sigh appreciatively. 

Radar groaned beside her and wriggled again. Kellye touched his side, lightly, and he made a noise that was half groan, half yelp, and entirely adorable. “Can I help you with your kit?” she said and he nodded, tilting his head for another kiss.

She worked her way around to the front, under his shirt, feeling the muscles of his abdomen tighten under her hands, then slid two fingers under the waistband, just looking for the top button when he jerked under her hand and cried out with a quickly stifled “Oh!” and there was a short, bright flash behind her eyes so she pulled him down flat and scanned the woods behind them for tracer fire. Her heart raced.

His heart raced. She could hear it where her ear was pressed to his chest. Her fingers were sticky where they poked under his waistband. Oh. She’d barely touched him. She’d only just gotten her top off and Ray had always said he needed her to put out her “Best effort” since she wasn’t all that pretty, kind of disgusting really and she ought not to have that piece of pie, you know, and the idea that Radar got all hot and bothered just looking at her, well.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “And I like you soft and round and,” he stopped and winced and flattened out again. “Sorry.”

Kellye was starting to get a handle on this back and forth emotions thing. She thought. The shame hadn’t been all hers, for all that she’d found a memory to put to it, and that uncomfortable, restless feeling…”Let’s get that shirt off you,” she suggested and thought to pull it over his head from the back once she noticed the way he was dabbing at the damp spot on the front of his belly. She used the shirt to wipe him clean. “Okay to get these wet clothes off?” she asked.

He nodded. “I’m all, I mean I’m not, not now.”

“I’m sure we can fix that,” she told him. “Give it a few minutes.” She stripped him efficiently, so he wouldn’t have to think too hard about what she was up to. He looked down at his spent cock, the look on his face so chagrined she tilted his chin back up to look at her. “I haven’t got mine, yet. And I’m overdressed for the party, now.”

She shimmied out of her pants first, so she could fold them up and to tease him a bit. He took her in from the top of her head to her bare feet, and the look in his eyes made her bold. She hooked her thumb in her panties. “You wanna help me take these off?”

He swallowed. “Really?”

“It’s usually easier that way, yeah.”

“Hey!” He reached toward her and caught the waistband on either side in his hands, but stopped again to catch his breath, warm hands resting on the curve of her hip. His hands moved under the fabric to caress her behind and it was her turn to feel her breath hitch in her throat. “That’s—that’s something,” he said, stopping, then starting again with maddening, light strokes, then a tighter squeeze that made her yelp in surprise. “Sorry. Just, trying something.” He slid his hands back around to her sides and slipped her underwear off, then sat back on his haunches, his erection just beginning to make its second appearance in the shadow between his thighs. He swallowed. “Wow.”

She lay back on the blanket, head resting on one upraised arm, trying to arrange herself like one of those naked women in paintings by dead white men that somehow didn’t count as pornography. Radar ran a hand along the inside of her thigh, near the knee. She let herself sigh her appreciation, still half expecting Radar to panic and bolt. And with her on the wrong side of a minefield that could be more than the usual amount of embarrassing. He lay back down, gingerly, pressed himself close to her so they touched all down the length of their bodies and she wanted to scream, touch me, please, but he was frozen again, so she waited for him to catch up—though she had to admit, the amount of self discipline it was taking to go slow, to let herself feel her own emptiness and want was arousing in itself.

He kissed her again, softly, but catching her lip between his for a spare second. He licked his lips again, nervous. “Can I try something?”

“Anything you like,” she said.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop?”

“I doubt I’ll have to.” She took advantage of his position, lying beside her, to tuck one knee between his. His hand traced circles low on her belly. It was like he let out a breath he’d been holding. The moon’s faint bluish light mingled with chartreuse, a haze of color that had weight and texture and wrapped around them both like a blanket. Faintly dizzy, almost drowsy, she stretched, feeling like a cat that found a spot of sunshine to lie in. His erection moved against her leg. “Welcome back,” she told it.

“I think I’m—”

“You are. Your rooster is crowing.”

“Rooster?”

“Cock, whatever.”

He ducked his head and blushed. “Uh, yeah, that.”

“I could use a little attention,” she prompted.

“You want me to, I can, there?”

“Please.”

He circled lower, teasing into her hair, then his fingers reached her clit and she curved her back a little so they slipped just over the sweet spot and groaned her relief into his neck. He held still again, then stroked once, a tiny, experimental circle and squeaked in her ear.

“What?”

“I felt that.”

“Well, your hand is right there,” she teased.

“No, I felt that down _there_ ,” he said, no more clearly. He circled again, testing, and she was already so sensitive every touch drew a hiss or a sigh. She willed her muscles to relax so she wouldn’t come too soon herself. It wasn’t more than another two or three circles before he’d found the knack of it, just enough movement to keep her close to the brink, then holding perfectly still until she could take a little more. No one had bothered to put so much effort into bringing her pleasure before, and it made her almost shy. 

“Stop for a second,” she said, and he moved his hand to rest on the inside of her thigh. “I want to try something.” She trailed her free hand down his stomach until she could wrap it around his cock and drag a thumb across the bead of liquid at the tip. A phantom sensation ghosted over her own clit. She tried again. “Oh, you little cheat, that’s what you meant.”

He shrugged. She gave him a few light, almost tickling strokes that translated, ghostly and faint, onto her own body. He stopped her hand. “Can we…?”

She reached into the pocket of her discarded pants and collected the precious little package. “Bit hard to come by around here and the ones we do get we hoard to fix the anaesthesia bags, but I have been saving this for the right person.”

“And I’m the right person?” he said, as though that weren’t obvious from her hand teasing at his cock.

“In the right place, at the right time.” She handed him the package. 

He fumbled with it, finally using his teeth to get it open, then looked dubiously at the rubber inside. When she reached to help, he brushed her aside. “I got it, I got it,” he said. After a couple of false starts, he managed to roll it on. No one would have faulted her for running a hand over his work to make sure it was on right, though. 

She rolled further on to her back. He crawled on top of her, then stopped with them belly to belly, erection pressed between them. “I’m not sure how to do this.”

“Pretty much any way will be perfect at this point.”

She brought her legs up, bringing his cock into contact with the wetness of her opening and reached down between her legs to guide him inside her, warm and full and shockingly intense, mostly him filling her up, with just the shadow of being wrapped in warmth and wet and she felt this bubble of delighted agreement. _I want to move._

She twitched her hips encouragingly and he finally began to rock, first gently, just a difference in pressure without the sliding friction she craved, then as he got the knack of supporting himself on his hands, a slow, delicious slide all the way out and in again. “Yeah, do that. More,” she encouraged.

His breathing hitched, but he kept his movements slow, controlled, for another few strokes before his body got the better of him and he quickened his pace. She tipped her hips to wring a little more friction out of his movements for both of them and pleasure built between them until he crested a moment before she did, partly because he did, she thought, and that fuzzy, dreamy blanket hugged close around them both while they came down.

“I don’t want to move yet,” he said, curled up still half on top of her.

She chuckled. “You know something, Radar?”

“What?”

“You’re not a bad lay. Not bad at all.”

“You really are the prettiest girl in camp,” he mumbled into her chest. “I wish we could do this again tomorrow.”

She chuckled, then swallowed when she remembered that he was staying behind. ”How about you consider that an incentive to get your butt to Seoul as soon as you can.”

“Mmmf,” he agreed, then sat up suddenly. “It’s been hours! I gotta check on the radio.”

“Probably not hours,” she said. “Just put the jacket on. I’ll take your shirt and wash it.” She tidied herself up and folded the undershirt so the dry parts were on the outside, then passed it to him so he could do the same. Her clothes were damp with dew as she tugged them back on.

He patted his jacket, dug in a pocket and came up with his glasses, sagging in evident relief on finding them unscathed. “I thought we mighta rolled on ‘em.” He stuffed them on his face hastily. “Back across, just like before, all right?” He offered a hand.

This time when she took it the fizzy, floaty feeling, a feeling with that green-gold color attached to it was impossible to dismiss. “Just like before,” she echoed. He walked her out of the minefield by slightly different route and she counted steps the whole way, trying not to distract him. When they were back on the safe side again, she pulled him in for a kiss, this time tasting his mouth with her tongue. “For luck,” she told him.

“Yeah, for luck.” His voice turned melancholy. She turned to walk with him to the office, where Potter would be, tending the radio in Radar’s absence, hoping to hear good news.

“There’s always a chance things will work out all right, Radar,” she assured him, despite not believing it. “Get some sleep, okay? Busy day tomorrow.”

“I will. Love you, Kellye,” he said, then disappeared through the door.

She turned to jog back toward the nurses’ tent, conflicted. Maybe it was just an expression, she thought. She’d needed so bad, hell, she really had wanted him, he was so sweet and funny and she was absolutely not falling for him. She slipped into the nurses’ tent, ignoring the whispered, “Somebody got lucky tonight,” followed by shushing, and crawled into her bunk. And when she closed her eyes, she could feel a tug at her, a line of something warm and greeny-gold, and when she pointed to where it came from she pointed straight at the office. What had she gotten herself into?


	2. BJ and Hawkeye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BJ and Hawkeye take advantage of a sliver of free time on the night before the bug out.

BJ sat between his trunk and his duffel. Everything had been packed for days already in anticipation of their move. Hawkeye was wrapping the last pieces of the still in his clothes with care, as though he were going to be able to reassemble it wherever they were going. They had an hour to themselves, ostensibly to pack, until they would have to spell Bones and Houlihan in looking after their last, fragile patient.

BJ did not intend to spend one second longer than he had to packing.

"Hawk? You almost done?" He pushed the duffel off his cot and patted the empty space beside him.

Hawkeye pulled the drawstring on his own duffel tight. "Is that an invitation?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively but succeeded only in making BJ chuckle.

"What do you think?"

Hawkeye dropped onto the cot beside BJ. "We really shouldn't be doing this."

"Shut up, Hawk." He put his arms around Hawkeye. He'd always been smaller and slighter, but the last couple of weeks had melted the meat off his bones. Hawkeye was all angles and edges now, thin and shivering even in the muggy night air. BJ pulled him close, pressed his nose to the top of Hawkeye's head and into the silvering hair.

After a minute, Hawkeye relaxed in his arms and molded against him. BJ pulled away enough to tilt Hawkeye's chin up and brush their lips together. Hawkeye opened to BJ's touch, allowed him to taste, holding still as though afraid to move until all at once, as though a switch had flipped inside him, he threw his arms around BJ and crushed their mouths together, hard and desperate. BJ dove in with all he had, the kiss shouting their anger and fear more loudly than they could with their voices or tears.

They made short work of their undershirts, needing to feel skin and life and each other's heartbeats. BJ reached for Hawkeye's pants, tugging them down and off before turning away to unbutton his own. They fell back onto the cots, separated only by underclothes and socks, their cocks pressed along each other through the thin green cotton that was still too much fabric between them.

For a moment, they lay still, hearts thrumming, not even moving, just feeling the pressure build between their bodies.

"I want it all," BJ said into the hollow of BJ's throat. "I don't care if we get caught." He tugged at Hawkeye's underwear and kicked off his own.

"What's the worst they can do now?" Hawkeye agreed. "Socks. Get them off."

BJ snorted, a tension breaking chuckle, kicked off his socks and ran his fingers lightly across Hawkeye's ribcage until he curled up on the cot, laughing helplessly. He slid half off the cot to give himself a little room, then let his hand trail down to stroke at Hawk's hip, first light as a tickle and then more insistently along the inside of his thigh to tease at the delicate skin in between. He wanted to last a while, savor what might be his very last chance to seek joy before the whole world fell apart.

Hawkeye pulled him back up onto the bed, urging their bodies into closer contact. Their feet dangled off the end of the cot, twisted together and he was glad of every inch of skin. BJ nuzzled Hawkeye’s chin upward to inhale his scent and press chains of kisses along the pulse points. Hawkeye arched his back and gripped his ass with both hands, no longer able to control the urge to move. They rocked, BJ slowing the pace as much as he could, holding them tightly together while the cot creaked ominously beneath their combined weight. 

“Please,” Hawkeye murmured. And then, louder, almost a groan, “Please, more, I need—”

“Shhhhh,” BJ whispered into his ear. “Breathe. We have time.” He ought to have thought ahead before he packed the lube, but maybe the lack would give him an excuse to go slow, make it last.

Hawkeye whined and wriggled against him. BJ backed away, straddling him on his knees. Something snapped in the cot underneath him, but he ignored it. He drew his hands down Hawkeye’s flanks, gentling him, kneading his fingers into the taut muscles of his thighs, urging them to relax. Hawk relaxed all at once, lips pursed to blow the tension out of his body with an effort, then lay, boneless and trusting, his cock weeping and bobbing in time with his heartbeat. BJ leaned forward, slipping one hand between their bodies to capture a bead of precome, working it around the head of Hawkeye’s cock in slow circles. Hawkeye twitched beneath him, buttocks tensing and BJ froze until the muscles relaxed again. “Need you—”

“All the time in the world,” BJ told him again, then began to move, slow and firm against him, savoring the heat as it built, his hand holding them together and making the best use of the sweat building up between them.

“Oh, Beej, fuck, oh!” It was a supplication as soft as a sigh. BJ moved his hips in tantalizing circles. Hawkeye’s eyes were all pupil, his lips bright and softly open. BJ tilted his head forward to brush those lips, to taste Hawk’s mouth. He could feel the kiss all the way down to his toes, the way the sensation amplified between them while he continued the slow, steady grind of their bodies together.

Hawkeye’s stifled moan sent him over the edge and they rutted, hard, finally letting themselves cry out as their release found them. There was a sharp crack. BJ felt himself drop a few inches and stop short. Hawkeye lay gasping beneath him. “I think we broke the bed.”

BJ laughed. “I think we did.”

“We weren’t going to need it anymore anyway.”

BJ pulled Hawkeye forward to kiss him on the forehead then reached under what remained of the bed. The bag was mostly intact. He pulled out a sleeve of fig newtons and pushed one into Hawkeye’s mouth.

Hawkeye said something unintelligible, then pulled the cookie out of his mouth long enough to repeat himself. “That was a memory worth taking to my grave.”

“Hey, no grave talk.”

“Where did you learn that?”

BJ sighed. “Marriage gives you time to learn how to get the most out of a body. You’ll see.”

“Like anyone would ever ‘to have and to hold’ me.”

BJ ran a thumb over the too sharp bones of Hawkeye’s hip. “I’m holding you right now. And I’ll have you if you want me.”

“Do I need to remind you that you’re taken?”

“Do you really think my heart is too small for all of you?” The probability that neither of them would live to make good on his promise made him bolder. His chest ached. “Just promise me if you make it out and I don’t, you’ll find Peg for me.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Promise.”

He propped himself on his elbow. “I promise I will carry your love to Peg. And Erin.” He regarded the angle at which he lay and scrubbed one bare foot against the floor where the cot had dumped their legs. “We should get up.”

BJ extricated himself from the remains of the cot, then offered a hand to pull Hawkeye to his feet. They dressed in a silence that grew heavier and less easy as they clothed themselves, the olive drab a concrete reminder that they were embedded in a larger space and time that would shortly pull them apart. For all his promises, Hawkeye was even less likely to survive their separation than BJ was. The chances they would see each other again were impossible to calculate—except, perhaps, by Spock. He knew he didn’t want to know those odds.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll walk you back,” he tried to say, but he only got as far as “I’ll walk—” when his voice broke on the words.

Hawkeye nodded, lips pressed flat against his own tears. BJ found a second rag and a glass of water and wet it for them both to cool their faces. Hawkeye still looked puffy eyed and lost, and BJ knew he looked the same, but it wouldn’t be fair to hide in here much longer, not while Bones and Margaret were with the patient waiting for their own turn to say goodbye.

They stumbled out the door together, arm in arm. There was no one in the yard, but BJ doubted it would have mattered. It was one of those nights when everyone held on to each other to drive out the terror of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my favorite! Come start the conversation.


	3. Margaret and Leonard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin.

Wilson rested face down on the surgical table where he would remain for the next twelve hours. Leonard and Margaret had nodded off sitting against the wall with her head resting on his shoulder, the medical tricorder propped next to Wilson and set to give an alarm if anything changed.

“Bones? Major Houlihan?”

“Mmmmm?” Leonard mumbled beside her.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhh,” she said, hoping for a few more minutes to doze next to his solid warmth.

“Why don’t you two head back to the Major’s place and get her packed?” Hawkeye said.

“I am packed,” Margaret protested groggily, nuzzling harder into the curve of Leonard’s neck.

Hawkeye kicked at Margaret’s booted foot. “You two are unbelievably dense.”

Margaret yawned and reached her arms over her head, bumping Leonard with an elbow. He blinked himself awake, his bright blue eyes showing sleep-drunk confusion until they crinkled under his sudden smile. She smiled back in spite of herself and looked up. Hawkeye’s smirk broadened into an unmistakable leer. “Get out of here while you still can, you two! Go!”

Margaret scrambled to her feet, hauling Leonard up by the arm. Leonard paused in the doorway long enough to toss off a sloppy and inappropriate salute, which Hawkeye returned as sloppily. Leonard had made no attempt to learn when, where, or how to salute, considering the entire idea silly, but Hawkeye ought to have known better. Ordinarily, she would be annoyed enough to correct them, but tonight she just laughed. She ran for her tent, pulling Leonard along, fumbled at the door, and stumbled inside to find her cot still in place, though the bedding had already been pulled off and bagged.

It would have to do. Leonard touched her cheek, tentative and soft, as though he might break her. She dragged him to her and kissed him hard. He raked his fingers up her back, snagging them briefly on her bra through her shirt, hands roving as though he wasn’t sure where to rest them. Her tongue memorized the inside of his mouth. By the time they came up for air they had each other’s shirts untucked and Leonard had managed to unhook her bra one handed. Margaret knew there was a reason she liked surgeons. She stood on her tiptoes to nip at his ear. “By the time I’m through with you, you’ll never be able to forget me,” she whispered.

Leonard froze, his hands still up under her shirt, the thumbs stilled where they had been caressing her sides. “Look at me, Margaret.”

“Oh, Leonard, don’t make this awkward,” she started to protest, but he shook his head.

“Look me in the eye.” He tipped her chin up. Leonard’s eyes were shining in the lamplight. “I don’t ever intend to forget you. We may have to go different directions tomorrow, but as soon as I can I intend to find you.”

“And when you’re called back to your ship, are you really going to remember some woman you had a little fun with on a backwater planet?”

“I won’t have to, because you’ll be with me.”

She smacked him in the center of the chest, not quite playfully. “I’ll bet you even believe that,” she said, hating the bitter note that made it into her voice. 

Leonard walked her over to the stripped bed and sat down with her, his hands never releasing their gentle grip on her sides. He leaned forward and touched their foreheads together. “I won’t ask you to have faith in me. Just. Just let me give you this right now.”

Her chest ached, longing and fear mingling inside her. Love was hard. Trust was harder. Just once, could she let this be easy? “No time like the present,” she whispered.

“No time at all,” he agreed, nuzzling into position for another kiss. She nipped his lip and traced the hollow behind his teeth with her tongue. He pulled away from the kiss long enough to unbutton her blouse and pull off his jacket and undershirt. He was wiry with muscle in the arms and chest, the token of many years of military service and conditioning that marked him as a kindred spirit for all his discomfort with the Army. They understood each other, healers embedded in a machine that dealt death of necessity, and that was comforting. She tugged her arms out of her sleeves and shrugged out of her bra, then they fell back together again, hands spread against each other’s backs to grasp and scratch. Margaret reached a hand between them to work the button on her pants one handed, then tried to kick her way free of them without success until Leonard’s warm hands slid below the waistband to ease them off her hips. “You are,” he said, pausing between the words to press his lips to her throat, her collarbone, the hollow between her breasts, “so,” down her ribcage to her navel, “beautiful.” His tongue traced lower and his fingers dipped below the waistband of her panties, then paused.

“Problem, Doctor?” she asked.

He ran the tips of his fingers along the elastic. “Tell me you want it,” he said, looking up to catch her in his gaze.

“Always the gentleman,” she teased. He didn’t move. “Fine, fine, I want it. I want you.”

“Good enough for me,” he said, and skimmed her panties down over her hips and off, then guided her back onto the bed and nudged her legs apart so his hair tickled at the inside of her thighs while he caught her clit in his mouth and sucked. Pleasure arced through her like current, almost too much, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. Her eyes tracked to the ceiling and, though his tongue working her was exquisite, she felt chilled and lonely. She needed the pressure and warmth of a body pressed against hers, so she tapped him on the back of the head and scooted backward.

“You okay?”

“Get up here and warm me up,” she said. He obliged, tucking her head onto his chest and running his fingers down her back to knead her ass.

“Scoot up just a little more,” he said. “Yeah, perfect.” One hand crept down between her legs from behind, while the other teased at her curls from the front. He caught her clit between his fingers to work circles while sliding two fingers into her folds from behind. She arched her back and turned her head, seeking his mouth and groaned into it while her hips bucked into his hands of their own accord. “Ah ah, not yet.” He went infuriatingly still until her legs unclenched, then he rolled her on top of him so she could feel his length against her belly.

“You want me to ride you?”

He smiled, brilliantly from beneath her. “You ever tried it?”

“Once. Guys don’t usually—doesn’t it make you feel like less of a man?”

He cocked his head and freed a hand to tick off points on his fingers. “The angle’s better for both of us, I promise. My hands are free to touch you, and I get a gorgeous view. What’s not to love?”

She chuckled. “You time travelers are always so intellectual.”

Leonard waggled his eyebrows. “Let me prove the advantages of having an intelligent man in your bed.”

“Is that a challenge, Doctor?”

“If it gets you wrapped around me, sure.”

Margaret scoffed. “I think you’re just tired and want to lie down,” she teased, but she straddled Leonard on her knees and lined herself up.

“What a view,” Leonard breathed. Margaret took him in hand to let her nails graze their way from base to tip, relishing his shudder. She lowered herself onto him. “Stop,” he said before she was even halfway down.

She held still. “Am I too much for you, Doctor?”

“I’d ask you to call me Leonard, but I think you’re getting off on the title, Nurse.” He twitched his hips to move inside her, then tucked his hand into the space between their bodies. “Slowly now,” he said, his voice taking on the measured, instructive tone he used in surgery. And didn’t she feel that voice all the way down to her toes? She lowered herself slowly, and he spread his hand so her clit pressed just—so—against his shaft and kept his thumb there for good measure.

Margaret held still a few moments, relishing the sensation of fullness, the little shocks when his cock twitched inside her. He circled with his thumb. She rolled against him, warm pleasure rising everywhere he touched. His sigh turned into a moan. “You feel so good around me, beautiful, so good—” She rose up and pressed down slowly at first, savoring, and then faster as the pressure built inside her. He reached around to grip her ass with his hands, pushing and pulling to speed their movements further until he jerked and cried out, “Margaret!” then sped up even more, moving one hand to massage her clit until she came a few moments later, heat flashing all the way to the soles of her feet. She folded her body over his, spent and gasping.

Leonard rolled her then, so she was lying with his arms wrapped tightly around her, the sweat on her body cooling her. She shivered, her blankets already packed in boxes and loaded on one of the trucks that waited for the morning bug out. He kissed her forehead, then tucked her head into the hollow of his neck. It was such a sweet gesture, and so unlike Frank or the other men she’d been with that she lost control of herself and burst into stupid tears.

He squeezed her tight and rocked with her. “I know, I know,” he said. They lay on the bare mattress until they could no longer ignore the chill or the duties awaiting them. Margaret rolled out of bed first, found Leonard’s undershirt and pulled it over his head, half as a joke. He put it on the rest of the way and fished around on the floor until he came up with an armful of olive drab to lay out on the bed. She cupped his damp cheek and wiped away a lingering tear with her thumb. He held up her bra, but when she reached for it, he threaded it onto her arms, tucked each breast into it and latched the back, taking a moment to lean in for a soft kiss. 

Her breath hitched again. He helped her into her undershirt and blouse, flicking her hands away when she tried to do the buttons up herself. She found his jacket and slid it onto his shoulders, sweeping down his arms with her hands afterward as though to straighten it. She got to her panties and pants first and stepped into each while he found his own, but he spun her around to do up the pants buttons. She knelt to reach his, then nuzzled her forehead against his soft crotch. He offered an arm to help her up, then they stood together and left her room for the last time, arm in arm, to return to work for the rest of the time they would have together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all the Houlibones fans out there, have a smut. (How many of there are you, three? Four?)


	4. Spock/Kirk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is finally cleared for sexual activity. They get acquainted with the changes in each other's bodies that their injuries have wrought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: This is an experiment with sexuality as a meditative practice, which seems to me to be a very Vulcan sort of a thing. As such, it's slower, softer, and maybe not as exciting as some--but there is something to be said for taking one's time to give a gift to the most important person in your life.

#  **Seeking A Friend, Chapter 4**

It was late. Jim was almost certainly asleep at this hour. Spock picked his way through the slick, muddy ground under a sky full of stars. He paused outside their tent, carefully leaned his crutches against the wall beside him, and gazed up at them for several minutes. He'd missed seeing a starry sky overhead for so many days. The chill and constant damp made him uncomfortable and reduced his efficiency, but the low clouds like a ceiling above him, hiding him from the rest of the universe were even more oppressive.

He opened the screen door as quietly as he could, but the wood had swollen with the rain and the door squealed on its hinges. He crept into the darkened room, lay his crutches on the floor under his cot, and sat down gingerly, hoping in vain that the cot wouldn't creak under his weight. Jim's bedside light clicked on, bathing his face in its incandescent glow. "Spock. Is everything ready for tomorrow?"

"Our message to Starfleet has been recorded and the transmitter is ready to send it tomorrow."

"Jeep gassed up and in good order?"

He had asked the same question at dinner, and at lunch. Spock replied patiently, "Yes, our colleagues’ means of escape is as prepared as possible."

"I guess that's all we can hope for." Spock pulled back the blanket on his cot to wrap around himself during his evening meditation. "I hope you're not thinking of going right to bed," Jim said.

"I intended to meditate, as is my habit."

Jim was silent for a moment, but a smile broke onto his face. He looked at Spock with undisguised adoration, then the soft smile cracked into a grin. "The doctor cleared me for sex--if we're careful." He paused to lick his lips. "Unless you're too tired."

"I am not unduly fatigued." He crossed the room to seat himself, gingerly, on the edge of Jim's cot. "I admit to wondering precisely how you obtained permission from Doctor McCoy, given his protective nature and stated desire never to hear of our bedroom activities."

"Who said anything about Bones? I asked Dr. Hunnicutt."

"And did Dr. Hunnicutt include any restrictions on the form any sexual activity might take, given your still fragile constitution?"

"Who are you calling fragile?"

Spock quirked a chastizing eyebrow at his bondmate. "I have no doubt that given time, you will recover fully from your injuries. What restrictions were imposed?"

"No penetration, no weight bearing on my ribcage," Jim said, reluctantly.

"I believe that I can," he paused to pull back Jim's blankets, "work within those restrictions. Don't you?"

Jim tapped his index finger against his lips as though he were lost in thought, a gesture he well knew turned Spock's attention in a carnal direction. "I do believe something could be worked out."

Spock found himself no longer content to engage in idle banter and caught up his bondmate's free hand, first tracing his fingertips, then lacing their fingers together so that the lamplight streamed through them to dapple the blanket. "I have missed you."

"I've missed you too." He sat up, covering a wince with a grin, though Spock could feel the echo of the ache in his bondmate’s ribcage through their tangled fingers. Jim was still wrapped in a support bandage, but now it was only there to support his ribs, rather than cover open wounds. He had lost at least fifteen kilograms in the weeks they had been here and had grown pale from lack of full spectrum light, but Spock knew his vitality would return in time, should they survive the next few critical days. "You're frowning," Jim said, his gaze tracking from their hands to Spock's face.

"I am attempting to forgive what this world has done to you."

"To us, you mean," Jim said. "I try to focus on what the people on this world have done for us." He tucked his chin to regard his own bandages. "I'd like to look at you. If you're not too cold."

Spock took a moment to consider the situation. He was chilly and Jim's cot was too narrow for them to lie beside each other. "Have patience." The table had been cleared for the night and would be packed away in the morning. Folding it away now would be easy enough. He dragged it toward the cot, then flipped it over and sat on the floor to fold in the legs. Once it was shoved out of the way, he set about trying to pull his own cot across the small room to abut Jim's. 

Jim caught his intention and climbed out of his cot to help. At Spock's cautionary look he said, "Don't look at me like that. It's just awkward, not heavy."

Spock sighed, knowing Jim was right. "I will pull, you stand on the opposite side and walk it forward with your legs." Together they worked Spock's cot across the small room so that it butted up next to Jim's. Jim gingerly lowered himself back down and Spock lay full length beside him for the first time since the terrifying night when they'd kept each other alive by force of will--a night Spock remembered clearly, though Jim did not. Jim arranged the covers over them both and wrapped himself around Spock's body. Spock felt a tightness inside him unspool as they curled into their customary positions, Spock on his back, with Jim curled into his side with one arm and one leg thrown over him and his head resting in the hollow between Spock's neck and shoulder.

He might have been content merely to rest that way for the remainder of the night, but for the fact that it had been far too long for both of them. The bond required maintenance, and their frequent melds, while helpful, failed to ease an uncomfortable dissonance growing in it. There was also the matter of Jim's obvious erection poking into his thigh. Jim caught the unshielded thought and canted his hips into Spock's leg for emphasis.

Jim sat up abruptly. "I want to work through  _ kohl-katelaya _ ."

Spock rose to sit on his cot facing Jim's cot and the wall, not quite crosslegged. His left leg was bent so that his foot braced against the stump of his right thigh, making a stable enough triangle. His bond with Jim had been sorely tested by their injuries and isolation from Starfleet. They had depended on each other for safety, comfort, and stability without the ability to care for each other sexually for several weeks. Not only might a slow, measured, mindful approach be wise, it would be in line with his own traditions. He lowered his head briefly. "I concur. Do you require assistance to reach the necessary mental state?"

Jim's smile was teasing, but warm. "I don't require it, but I'd enjoy it." He tugged off his pants and underclothes with no further ceremony and arranged himself cross legged facing Spock, erection on full view.

Spock found himself having to swallow. He removed the rest of his clothing, but lay one blanket over his shoulders and pulled the other up over Jim's, then returned to his position facing his bondmate, his hands steepled in front of him, second and third fingers separated. Jim copied his pose smoothly though his eyes tracked lower, no doubt hoping to see Spock's own member emerging from its sheath. His cheek twitched. " _ Gla-tor _ . Focus on that which is aesthetically pleasing in your vision."

Jim nodded. His eyes roved Spock's frame for a time before settling. Spock's focus moved from lashes, to lips, to the curve of Jim's throat and his pulse, just barely visible. Signs of life. They remained so for four point two minutes, until Spock could sense Jim's breath slowing, his arousal warm and seeking, prickling just under his skin where their legs touched.

" _ Zhu-tor.  _ Close your eyes and listen to my breath," Spock said, reaching out to place a hand flat against the center of Jim's chest, over the bandages. Jim brought his own hand up to rest low against Spock's ribcage. The contact between them flared, though dimmed and unbalanced by the layers of gauze between Spock's hand and Jim's chest. That chest rose and fell softly, the sighs of his breath no longer labored or too fast, though they sounded different still to his sensitive ear.

"You're not relaxing," Jim accused with a faint chuckle.

"A moment. Be still." The gauze against his fingers reminded him of their near miss and continuing peril. He struggled for a moment, wanting to escape the emotion, but knew that he needed to integrate the experience or it would affect him when he most needed to be mentally acute. Jim had nearly died. They had lain side by side for all those hours, holding on to each other. Spock could not allow himself to feel his fear at the time, needing all his strength and focus to keep them both alive in their shared healing trance. Jim, of course, recalled nothing of that time, but the memory of those long hours of desperate effort returned to him nightly as he was falling asleep, not quite as nightmare, but more a shapeless dread and an involuntary musing on what might have happened had he failed.

"I'm here," Jim said. "I'm all right."

"By your definition."

"Shut up and breathe. I do want to get laid eventually." It took them both another several minutes to settle before Jim, by unspoken mutual consent, said, " _ Olau _ , now."

Spock held out both hands, palms upward and Jim lay his on top, carefully still. They paused here, Spock concentrating on the warmth of the hands on his, the faint roughness of callus on the fingers that held a stylus or a pencil, the pressure of the meat of their thumbs against each other. "Go ahead. You need it more." Jim said, cuing Spock to move.

Spock lay Jim's left hand on his right thigh, just above the curve where the leg ended abruptly in a dimpled scar, then reached up to finger the lock of hair that always fell forward into Jim's face. Cool and slightly damp, it tickled across his palm. Spock opened his fingers to allow the caramel strands to flow between them, his mouth falling open slightly. Jim gasped and he froze. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, no, you're gorgeous when you're enjoying yourself. Keep going."

"Very well."

He stroked over the dome of Jim's skull and down the back of his neck, pausing again at the soft hum of of pleasure escaping his bondmate's lips. The psi point at the base of his skull sparkled beneath him, warm as sunlight. He allowed the giddy falling to overtake them for only a moment before redirecting back to their bodies and moving to stroke his thumbs across Jim's forehead, eyelids and cheekbones, the sensations now echoing softly on the skin of his own face. Jim smiled now, warmly and widely. Spock ran his thumbs over those lips, dodging Jim's playful attempt to capture one with his tongue to suck. He drew his hands down to Jim's throat, teasing the tender spots along the collarbone. Jim wriggled in place, seeking friction for his bobbing cock. "Be still, adun," he whispered, aloud for emphasis.

Jim counted breaths while Spock explored his chest above the gauze bindings holding his ribs in place, then again, required himself to carefully run his hands down the wrappings, closing his eyes to visualize the healing injuries beneath. He put more pressure into his strokes over Jim's abdomen and lower back, the way he liked them, savoring the moan when he gripped the shrunken buttocks and the shudder when he kneaded his way down Jim's abdomen, skirting around his cock and across his thighs, ending by resting his hands on Jim's knees.

He sat quietly in that space for over a minute, processing the tactile knowledge of Jim's not so terribly changed body, before Jim reached up to repeat Spock's movements in the prescribed order.

Jim struggled to keep his movements slow and controlled, first combing through Spock’s hair and tracing the sweep of his ears, brushing across his face and down the cords of his neck. Spock held his focus on the sensation of warm fingers stroking over his skin, cataloguing each sensation, changes in friction and pressure, the pleasure drawn from his cheeks, his throat, his sides. Jim crept behind him to smooth his hands across his back, pressing almost as though he were molding Spock's body out of clay, then working his way down to the sensitive span of his waist, deliberately lightening the pressure to a tickle just to hear Spock's gasp. 

When he reached the stump of Spock's right leg, he paused. "Does this still hurt?" The question was an obvious request for permission to touch.

"It aches at times, but it is healed," he said. 

Jim nodded and moved to feel the pad of muscle that protected the end of his leg. Hawkeye had prepared the limb as though he would receive a prosthetic at some point in the future, though Spock still hoped he might be able to have a biological replacement limb grown. He winced, once, when Jim's forefinger pushed into one of the deeper folds of the forming scar. Jim immediately flattened his hand to massage the end of the limb in apology.

Jim leaned in until Spock could have inhaled his breaths. “ _ Fnish-tor _ and  _ zhav-tor _ , now, don't you think?"

"I am amenable," he murmured against Jim's lips, then opened his mouth to him to taste, running his tongue along the vestibule between teeth and upper lip and savoring Jim's shudder. It was a relief not to have to be quite so careful as they had been the past week, keeping kisses gentle and brief, with Spock always resting a hand at the pulse point in Jim's throat to warn him if Jim became too excited or breathless. He trailed lips and tongue down into the hollow of his husband's throat while Jim buried his nose in Spock's hair. They both smelled of strong military issue soap and the persistent damp earth of a Korean spring. Jim's skin, tart-salt and warm, begged to be savored slowly.

Jim mumbled into his ear. "Slow down, it's been too long. I don't want to come yet."

"I will assist, if you wish."

"Mmmmm," Jim hummed his agreement. 

Jim rested his weight on the wall to allow Spock better access. Spock took a moment to consider how to best brace himself with only one leg and settled on curling up with his head in Jim's lap. He set aside the brief, uncomfortable awareness that the soft padding there had melted away entirely with Jim's illness and turned his attention to his mate's deep pink, straining member. He reached one hand to rest lightly on Jim's face and the other to firmly circle the base of his cock.

He softened Jim's need just enough to extend the experience so they could savor each other, then studied the delicate skin of his balls with his fingers, then traced the riverlike pattern of veins up his cock. Jim's breath quickened and Spock stifled the impulse to worry, sampling Jim's pleasure to remind himself that the exertion was good and healthy for him. He bent to smell musk and sweat then brushed his lips over the tip. Jim lost the battle to remain still and raised his hips, a whine escaping from his mouth.

Spock sucked Jim in, the rough tip slipping past his tongue and up against the roof of his mouth. He worked his tongue against the smooth, slick skin nearer the base, drawing him in further as Jim moaned beneath him, gradually building speed and pressure with lips and tongue and hands, his concentration on every trembling muscle and ecstatic gasp, the touch of their minds allowing him to feel Jim's mind lose words, and place, and time until there was only sensation, then to keep him in that state for long minutes, until the strain became too much and Jim climaxed, spilling bitter fluid down Spock's throat.

He half expected Jim to drift into sleep. The look on his face was bliss-drunk, almost silly, and his eyes were heavy lidded so the lashes brushed his cheeks. Spock pushed himself upright and scooted backward on the bed, but Jim gripped his hand as he drew away. "Don't think you're getting off so easy, mister."

Spock felt his eyebrow creep to his hairline. "Are you certain?"

"Don't you make me put off seeing your O-face until after we're back on the ship." Jim slid down on the bed to prop himself on one elbow over Spock's emerging cock, but after trying a couple of different evidently painful angles, he lay his head down on his arm. "I'm not giving up just yet," he warned.

"I am certain that with your ingenuity you will find a solution."

Jim closed his eyes in thought. For a moment Spock thought he might fall asleep after all, then he pushed himself carefully back up to a sitting position. "You. edge of the cot."

Spock immediately understood his bondmate's plan. He moved into position. "Are you certain you can sit on the floor?"

"Spock, I'm fine. You sound like Bones."

"I thought we agreed never to speak his name in the bedroom."

Jim snorted a laugh. "Ow." He gingerly crawled over to the edge of the cot and lowered himself to the board floor, face level with Spock's knees and leaned in to brush his hair against Spock's emerging cock. Spock reached forward to run his fingers through his curls and Jim said, "Hands behind you. Focus."

"I believe I may have taught you too well, _ashayam_." He leaned back a little to support his weight on his hands and closed his eyes to better focus on his bondmate's touch. Jim's ears brushed the inside of his thighs, and his curls tickled. If he concentrated, he could imagine he could count every hair as it trailed inward along his thighs. Wetness flicked against the tip of his cock. He willed himself to stay perfectly still while Jim teased him with lips and tongue, the warmth and wetness enthralling him, but more so the precious glow of relief, devotion, and delight pouring off his bondmate.

He allowed himself to sink lightly into meditation, stilling all awareness except that of Jim's mouth and hands and mind. A tendril of thought caught at the edge of his awareness, a beckoning and a request. He shifted his weight slightly to free one hand and felt for Jim's temple and cheek. Jim drew him deeper into his mouth and gasped at the reflected sensation, then sucked and swirled his tongue, adding pressure and motion with a hand wrapped around the base. Spock gave in to the overwhelming pleasure filling him, body and soul until climax overcame them. For a moment, they both dissolved into light, burned clean by its brilliance.

By his knees, Jim was breathing hard.

"Are you all right, Jim?"

"I'm perfect," he gasped, then laughed. "You're perfect."

Spock slid backward until he was sitting on the cot closer to the wall. "Come up to bed, Jim. You need your rest." He reached forward to help Jim rise, then rolled into the space closer to the wall to give his bondmate room to lie beside him. Jim took his time arranging himself around Spock's body. Nestled under the blankets and with each other's body heat to warm them, Jim was asleep in moments. 

Tomorrow would come soon enough, and Spock had prepared for it as well as he could. He settled into meditation, allowing himself to analyze his own disquiet. He had done all he could to shield those he loved from the crises of the coming days. What would happen, would happen. He reflected on his own thought. Those he loved. It had taken him a long time to admit he was subject to that particular emotion, but he found that it suited him. It went without question that he loved Jim. In his way, he loved Doctor McCoy as well. And in a different way, he had grown to love some of the men who had cared for them here. Hawkeye Pierce, whose fierce devotion to peace and healing reminded him so much of McCoy; Corporal Klinger, who had accepted him exactly as he was, without question or reservation, and of course young O'Reilly, who had lived such a short time and borne so much.

They would do their best for each other tomorrow, and for this world. It would be enough. It had to be.


	5. Sherman and Mildred Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colonel Potter can no longer keep himself from trying to contact his wife.
> 
> Note: This chapter does not have any smut in it, though there is a little very tame innuendo.

Spock's form emerged from the tent housing the transmitter to step-hop toward the VIP tent, slowly on the still muddy ground. Radar had meandered away to the O Club half an hour ago. Potter tapped thoughtfully on the window ledge with his pencil, trying to convince himself not to commit what would, loosely construed, constitute treason.

If the United States existed long enough to prosecute him for it. 

Potter resisted the urge to look around for witnesses while he crossed the yard between his own quarters and the tent Spock had just left, knowing that he had every right to enter just about any part of the camp he wanted. They'd moved the radio into the tent this afternoon so they could wire it up to the subspace transmitter. He ducked under the tent flap and felt around until he could turn on the lights strung across the ceiling.

He knew how to operate a radio, more or less. It had been a while. He sat down in front of the microphone, careful to avoid jostling the cascade of wire pouring off the edge of the table and running in a turbulent stream across the ground to the jeep chassis on which the transmitter had been built. The transmitter itself was a bizarre, hulking mass of welded together plate and wire. In the yellow light of the lamps, it cast hard edged shadows. There was something almost accusatory about the way it loomed over him.

Potter turned his back to it and made a show of checking that the plugs were in the right places, though he wasn't sure what audience he was playing for. He wound up the crank, leaned into the mike, and said, "Sparky? This is Colonel Potter, are you there?"

There was a long pause. "This is Sparky. What can I do you for?"

"Sparky, I need you to get a call through to Hannibal, Missouri."

"Don't recall any military bases in Hannibal, Colonel." There was a warning tone in Sparky's voice, and all the joking had gone out of it.

Potter pressed his lips together and committed himself to his course. "If I give you the number, will you patch me through?"

"I don't know, sir." There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Official business only."

"This is a very important call."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Dammit, Sparky, this isn't a test! I'll take full responsibility. Just get on the line and patch me through to Hannibal so I can talk to my wife!" Again, the long silence. Potter half expected to hear the click of the line going dead. His chest ached. "All right, Sparky, you're a good man, I'll let you get back to--"

"Give me the number."

Potter rattled it off, repeated it, and waited. His anticipation was desperate enough to be a physical pain. Connect, he willed the radio. Be at home, he willed Mildred. It was eight in the morning in Hannibal. She might have gone shopping early. She might be out in the garden. The line clicked, the connection singing out faintly with crackles and pops. One ring. Two. He twisted his ring on his finger. Three, and the clack of the receiver being lifted from its cradle. "Hello, this is Mrs. Potter."

That familiar voice reached all the way down the long wires and waves between them, eased its way around the hissing and spitting connection and poured into his ears like balm. He found himself briefly speechless. When he recovered, he choked, "Honey it's me. It's Sherman," 

He could hear her breathing. "Oh," she said, after a moment, the sound coming soft and high. "It's good to hear your voice."

There was a question embedded in her words. "It's good to hear yours, too, Mildred."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, I just had an opportunity and I wanted to hear from you. How are the kids?"

"Fine, fine, as well as can be expected. So much craziness on the news, you know. But I suppose you don't know anything about that."

He forced a chuckle. "I'm just a surgeon," he told her.

She was silent for a second too long again. "You be careful," she said at last, and he knew from her tone that he'd given something away. "I want you coming home in one piece, do you hear?"

"I can't. My heart is already with you. Say," he said, as much to change the subject as anything else, "You know that lace nightie you wore when I came home after V-J day?"

"I most certainly do." Her voice took on a flirtatious lilt.

"Wear it for me when I come home, will you?"

"As I recall I have never worn it for more than five minutes in a row."

"Maybe you could put it on under your dress when you pick me up. Then it might get a little wear." He imagined her driving to the airport in St. Louis and sobered. "On second thought, Mildred, no reason for you to leave town. I'll catch a ride to Hannibal."

"Sherman?"

"Meet me at the door in that nightie," he said, and then added on impulse, "Tell the kids--" There was a click, and the static hissed, louder and then softer and lower pitched, and Sparky was back on the line.

"That's all I can give you, Colonel," Sparky said.

"Now you listen here, Sparky, you are going to get that connection up and running again and put me back on with my wife!"

The only sounds for half a minute were crackles and pops from the radio. Sparky snapped back, "Look, Colonel Potter, I could get in a lot of trouble just letting you use the line for personal communications once, much less twice in one night."

"She shouldn't be alone tomorrow," he argued. "I need to tell her to call the kids."

"I'm sorry, Colonel."

"I need to tell her I love her."

"I'm sure she knows."

"I ought to be with her, especially now."

"You'll be with her soon. You can tell her then."

Sparky was right. Potter scrubbed the tabletop with his finger. "I'm sorry, Sparky, I shouldn't have lost my temper. You're just doing your job."

"Thank you, Colonel."

"You keep your head down, now, you hear me?"

"I will."

"Goodnight, Sparky." He cut the connection and leaned back in the chair. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket, tapped it down and bit off the end. The smoke was sweet and curled around his head like Mildred's hair. He blew a few smoke rings, then put out the butt and let it fall to the ground. Reveille would come early tomorrow and they had a hell of a day ahead of them. 

Mildred was a tough old biddy, tough as a hickory nut. He'd probably get home to find she'd organized the whole town to kick those Klingons out with shotguns and pitchforks. He was kidding himself and he knew it. Shotguns and pitchforks wouldn't stand against aliens who could travel impossible distances in days and had, he suspected, the same almost magical technology Bones and Spock carried. He just had to hope that the welded together hunk of junk beside him could call for reinforcements before those Klingons got around to an itty bitty town like Hannibal.

He slapped his palms onto the table and pushed himself to his feet. What he wouldn't give to sit down with a glass of brandy or even Hawkeye's homebrew, but his liver wasn't as young as it used to be and he couldn't afford a morning hangover. Outside, the wind was damp and just this side of warm. The fabric edges of the tents flapped gently along with the waving grass, both casting indistinct moving shadows in the faint lamplight leaking out of shaded windows.

He trudged to his bed. His hands went through the motions of undressing while his attention wandered elsewhere. He sat down on the edge of the bed, yawned, stretched, lay himself out and did not fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments build community. Come start the conversation!


End file.
